


idyll

by gryffindormischief



Series: Harry Potter AUs! [27]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: The woods are lovely, dark and deep,But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Harry Potter AUs! [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/817470
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	idyll

**Author's Note:**

> i angsted over this fic but now it's done and here. hope you like!

Waking from sleep is an odd thing, confusing at times. On those nights turned mornings where it feels as if a thousand years and no time at all have passed since you let your eyes drift closed. Suddenly, you’re thrust from a foggy dreamless world into the harsh, sharp lines of reality with no in between. And somehow, no matter how many hours you’ve been asleep it’s as if you never shut your eyes.

Harry, has never been one for a good night’s sleep. Whether it was a cramped closet, banging ghouls, angry Dursleys, or your general nightmare situations, his sleep is not particularly sacred. Especially since nightmares often, in his experience, have some hook in reality that means waking doesn’t save you.

Now, well now Harry’s wondering what exactly has transpired to tease him with the sight of Ginny Weasley lying in a cotton-sheeted bed with her hair a riot around her sleep softened face. His dreams are haunted by her often enough. Have been since the summer before his sixth year. Hells that feels like lifetimes ago. It does bear mentioning that she appears to be _ naked _.

Harry has had those dreams, though he won’t admit as much to Ron even on pain of death, the beautiful dreams he’d gotten a mere _ taste _of in reality over a few blissful weeks that feel eons ago rather than months. After, when he hadn’t been tormented with visions of death and torture and whatever fresh horrors Voldemort stirred, Harry had still had the occasional dream tinged with that tantalizing floral scent. 

And they’d become increasingly realistic after he’d experienced life with Ginny, for however brief a time.

Over the years, he’s been the victim of pain, punishment, and torture of the muggle and wizard varieties, but this teasing view feels like a special kind of tear at his heart. 

She’s beautiful, here, whole, and _ more _than he could dream. And she’s not even awake. Or real.

Soppy though it might sound, Harry’d still be content to stare at her for hours.

Which is when he wakes enough to begin considering first, this is may not a dream at least in the traditional sense, and second, it could very well be some sort of horrible new tactic to make him crumble. It’s the mirror all over again.

He pinches himself inside his elbow, squeezes his sleep fogged eyes shut and then blows them open wide. She’s still there.

Next, he thinks very forcefully _Wake Up_ _Wake Up Wake Up_ _wakeupwakeup_.

Nothing.

Last, he reaches for her and feels the warmth of her skin as his palm hovers over her arm. And he can’t do it. Not that he needs to. This is real - or at least in some sense. The odds are, considering his life up until this point, that he’s definitely in a death trap dressed up like his greatest dream.

A possibility only made _ more _ horrid by the necessary preliminary that somehow his stolen weeks with Ginny have come into the awareness of Voldemort and his cronies. He really feels on the verge of complete and utter panic when her sleep roughened voice spills across the rumpled pillows. “I can _ hear _ you thinking, Harry James.”

Harry’s breath catches when her eyes blink rapidly before she peers at him, still half asleep. “We deserve a lie-in after last night, eh?”

And if he didn’t trust the way his heart pounded to confirm the implications of ‘last night’, the fact that he can now feel how very naked _ he _is confirms the fact that in whatever hellish heaven he’s been dropped in, Harry Potter has shagged Ginny Weasley. 

Though, in all honesty, Harry’s fairly certain from their weeks together if anyone is shagging anyone she’d be the shag-_ er _ and he’d be the shag- _ ee _. Even when it seems he’s taking charge it’s really only because it’s exactly what she’d planned. 

And hell if he’s not tempted to give in to whatever _ this _is and finally explore every inch of her he’d only glimpsed, dreamt of.

But if he’s got any hope of living to see her again, to hold her again, to _ love _ her - because they’d been close to it - he can’t get swept up in some mimic.

Which is what he keeps repeating to himself as he slips from the warm bed and haphazardly drags on clothes, that are apparently his, strewn about the room.

Still, he can’t help but glimpse the photos of their life together, still and magic - quidditch, Christmas, birthdays, at a muggle park with a little boy that looks decidedly half like Remus and half like Tonks, and even a few weddings. 

Including their own.

That’s the one that tugs at his chest, not for the obvious reasons. But because he’s never felt as genuinely happy as Harry in the photo seems. 

There’s no shadows beneath his eyes, no tremble in his smile, no hesitance in his grip on Ginny’s waist as she grins and waves at the camera.

Harry takes a deep steadying breath which ends up relaxing him less than it should since he ends up with a lungful of Ginny, flowery and if he were a more poetic bloke, he might say it was sweeter than Amortentia.

She’s like that, just as powerful but where Amortentia leaves you feeling giddy and senseless, being with Ginny is like being shocked with electricity so every fiber of your being is aware, alight, and somehow at peace.

The ease is what he’s loathe to leave, and struggles to do so even as his fingers fumble the lock open. He pauses and pats his pocket and finds his wand - familiar holly and phoenix whole and unmarked.

And there’s the piece of the puzzle they had missed. His wand - the real one - was barely tethered together and tucked carefully in his pouch from Hagrid. Once Harry realizes, he has half a mind to leave the wand behind but it feels a bit stupid to leave himself completely defenseless. At the very least it’s comforting to have the illusion.

Yet, when Ginny clears her throat behind him he can’t bring himself to raise it against her. Sure, they’d sparred enough times but he might not be able to actually duel her with the possibility of hurting her on purpose. Which must be exactly what _ whoever _dreamt this up was banking on. Even if he put the mystery together, it wouldn’t make a difference. For all he blustered about friendship and love being his strength, now, in the heat of things, it didn’t feel so.

Ginny, for her part, hasn’t moved from her place at the end of the hall, her arms folded across her borrowed night shirt. It has a ministry logo emblazoned on the right side and engulfs her in a way that Harry assumes means it’s his. _ Supposed _to be, anyway.

“Going somewhere?”

His grip on his wand tightens, trembles. “Just out to the shops. Breakfast, yeah?”

Her brows rise and she’s giving him that _ look _. The one he’s been on the receiving end of on a few choice occasions right before some sort of epic dressing down. And not the fun type. “We had a shop last night, care to try again?”

Harry’s jaw works and embarrassingly he feels his eyes filling with hot tears.

Of course, Ginny sees. “Harry, love, come sit. I thought you were done being stupidly noble.”

That surprises a watery laugh out of him. And for the first time he begins to think maybe this _ is _ real - who else knew what they’d said to each other that horrid day? Barely anyone outside of Hogwarts even knew they’d _ dated _.

She gives him a half smile and tilts her head, “Come on, in the kitchen with you. Don’t let Robards ruin our day off.”

Harry smiles and follows, despite not knowing _ who _Robards is; it’s all feeling too oddly real to ignore.

While Ginny flicks the kettle on, wand tucked away in her messy braid, Harry putters around the kitchen before finding a loaf of plain white bread and a half eaten jar of peanut butter. Now that he thinks of it, he really is quite hungry, and even if he does need to plot an escape, doing so on an empty stomach isn’t ideal.

He’s definitely _ not _ reasoning his way into spending more time with Ginny. Or whatever imitation this is.

After swiping a healthy few knife fulls onto the bread, Harry spreads it and licks the remainder from the blade. Only to realize the kitchen’s fallen oddly silent. Perhaps Ginny _ really _doesn’t like people licking kitchen utensils.

When he hazards a glance her way, Ginny’s staring at him, her expression unreadable enough he’s a bit nervous. Until she finally softens and steps forward a bit hesitantly. “Harry?”

Her eyes are so wide and beautiful and her voice is so gentle he can’t resist her, swallowing and setting the knife down, though his fingers still grip it tightly.

“How old are you?”

Well that is unexpected. Generally hallucinations - self or outside induced - don’t bring up things you don’t know, things that will make it clear nothing is real.

“I - how old?”

Ginny moves closer and slowly cups his jaw. “You’re not _ my _ Harry, are you?”

Harry ducks his head and bites at his lip. He might as well admit it - if the slim possibility that this is all a vicious plot is actually true, they clearly know everything already. “I’m _ a _Ginny’s, or at least I was. Wanted - well still do want to be.”

She looks down at the knife in his hand and smiles a bit sadly. “You’re about seventeen, yeah? And if we’re broken up - a terrible decision might I add - then you’re - has summer ended?”

He nods.

“You’re on the run, then.”

Another nod. It occurs to him how odd it is that Ginny seemingly identified him with no evidence, and much as he’s confident Ginny is capable of just about anything she decides to do, it’s not really a feat he’d like to leave unexplained. “You knew it wasn’t - knew I wasn’t _ your _Harry.”

This time, her lips tilt in an unrestrained smile, her eyes brilliant and sparkling. “He - well you - after everything took up cooking. Hasn’t made something as plain as a peanut butter sandwich since before we married. Plus you were trying to flee the flat without a coat in the middle of a blizzard.”

Eyes widening, Harry looks down at her hand and finds a glittering ring resting on her hand and a matching band on his own. “So we’re.”

Then, she smirks at him. That dangerous one that had him forgetting about Death Eaters and danger and prophecies to sneak out underneath his cloak to enjoy some _ private _time in the Astronomy Tower. “Yes. Very much so.”

Of course, now that he’s on the verge of getting some answers, Harry’s seventeen year old boy brain decides to kick in and notice just how very _ not _ clothed his wife - _ some _Harry’s wife is at the moment. 

There’s miles of skin on display and hell if Ginny’s not somehow _ more _gorgeous than he remembered. 

He’s still trying to tear his attention away from that little freckle that bleeds over onto the pink of her lip when she lets out a barking laugh. “I never get what your fascination is with that one.”

Harry blinks a few times and tries to clear his head. Perhaps focusing on logistics is best. “Where do you think other - _ your _\- Harry is?”

Ginny frowns, her lightness dampered for a moment. “Don’t think I hadn’t considered - I just. I know where you are right now and he can handle himself, and I don’t know that this is your garden variety body-swap. But you. Oh, Harry.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time, closing the distance between them and pulling him close. “I wish - ”

“I assume things aren’t going to be peachy when I go back.”

Her smile is watery when she pulls away. “How about a fly?”

And in that moment, it’s like he’s with _ his _ Ginny in springtime air and desperate to escape the pressure of exams and expectations and what he’d _ thought _were problems. 

Now. Well now it all sounds like child’s play compared to what he’s facing. 

“You still do that.”

Harry shakes his head and finds Ginny smiling wryly. “Do what?”

“The brooding thinking face.”

He ducks his head, flushing under Ginny’s examination. “Guess it’s nice to know some things don’t change.”

Ginny turns and heads for the front of the flat, grabbing their coats from the rack. Only to pause halfway through passing the larger to Harry. “I think - well you don’t - ”

“People are - ” his voice catches, “_ Missing _. You can’t take me home.”

She’s wilted a little and Harry hates seeing it. Still she bounces back with a smile, forced though it is. “Too much complication bringing the family into it, I think.”

And because he can’t bear seeing Ginny so _ muted _ Harry blurts, “Or you just want to keep me here and have your wicked way with me.”

Her laugh is a surprised bark, cheeks red with what just might be embarrassment. “You are what a flirt.”

“Only in special circumstances.”

“My Harry says I bring it out of him.”

“Wise man. You should shag him more,” Harry says with a grin while Ginny tosses their coats back on the rack. 

“He gets plenty,” Ginny says with a wink as she leads him back through the flat. “Now sit on the couch while I make us some cocoa.”

For the first time, Harry’s eyes wander out the windows to find the world covered in a blanket of snow. 

“So strange,” Harry says when Ginny finally returns, “It’s spring back - then.”

“Ah. So you got my special birthday gift already.”

He’s shocked for a moment that she’s produced his favorite chocolate biscuits until he realizes it's _ their _flat and she’s his - wife. Except she’s not and he’s here and his Ginny is god knows where —

“Worrying won’t fix things.”

“It’s a bit hard not to.”

She hums and silence falls between them. Harry’s mind begins whirling again and he’s desperate to think of _ anything _else so he asks, “How do we - uh well. You know.”

“There’s my eloquent Harry James.”

“Stuff it.”

“Such sweet things you say. No wonder we’re married.”

“Must work,” Harry says, feeling a smile lift his lips. 

“It does and a little piece of me wants to smack you for it.”

Ginny rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her cocoa while Harry fidgets. Perhaps she’s forgotten his sort of question. 

“I won’t tell you specifics but. Well after everything we could’ve either fallen together or apart and we made the right choice.”

“Meaning we just started shagging and went at it for months straight.”

“Eventually,” Ginny says, fluttering her brow. 

“So I’m pretty great at it,” Harry answers, “Ginny will find me irresistible.”

“Two different issues, mate.”

“Oi! I’m telling other me.”

“As if.”

Harry tosses the empty packet at her and sends crumbs flying. “We will communicate on some higher plain and he will withhold all snogs, shags, and the like.”

“Like either of you could resist.”

This is where Ginny does what is apparently intended to be a funny little dance that mimics something that might be tempting and truly believes in it’s utter silliness. It is also where Harry realizes just how true her statement is. God he’s such an idiot.

She quirks her brow. “Stupid noble git.”

“Can’t really fight you on that at the mo’.”

She pats his knee and nudges his abandoned cocoa closer. “So what’re Ron and Hermione up to?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Besides being in complete denial? Mostly helping me plan - things.”

“Remember I’m the one with the dangerous foreknowledge.”

“Habit,” Harry says with a shrug, “I get better about that I guess.”

“With me, at least,” Ginny agrees, flicking her wand at the fireplace so it blazes to life almost in an instant. With a start, Harry realizes it’s the first magic she’s used all day.

Following his gaze, Ginny explains, “We do a lot of things like Muggles. It’s nice. But I hate making fires.”

Harry doesn’t know how long she stares into the flames, or how long he watches her as the glow lights her whole face as he catalogues everything about her. 

Hair still a wild brilliant red, eyes round and warm and beautiful. Her skin is freckled from head to toe - at least as much as he can see - and her whole body seems..._ tight _ . And that’s not something he notices in a creepy way, though he very much appreciates how utterly _ gorgeous _she is, it really is a clinical thing.

His Ginny - if he’s allowed to think of her that way - is fit in all senses of the word. But this Ginny seems like she could run a marathon with Harry strapped to her back and then arm wrestle Krum. It’s a fascinating change to see and yes, he does find it unbelievably attractive. Sue him.

She’s grinning at him again when his gaze meets hers. “You still give me _ that _look too.”

He blushes.

“Now you back it up with some action.”

Oh hell.

When she reaches forward, Harry startles and pulls back and Ginny’s face shutters a bit. “I wasn’t - ”

“I know.”

“It’s strange - you’re Harry but it’s just not - ”

“The same,” Harry finishes. And it’s true. She’s Ginny; fun, flirty, cheeky, no-nonsense Ginny and yet not his. Not yet.

“We need to switch things back.”

He fidgets with his mug, swirling the cooled drink. “I know.”

“If I could - ”

“I know.”

When she reaches for his hand this time, he doesn’t pull away. “So much of magic is about intent. Maybe you just,” Ginny shrugs, lets the sentence hang.

“I really wanted Ginny and for it all to be over, so I some how wished myself into bed naked with my sort of wife?”

She laughs. “Nobody said I was a magical theory scholar. I’m a proud jock.”

_ Quidditch _. 

“She does it then,” Harry says, not shocked in the least.

“Don’t tell her,” Ginny answers with a half smile, “It’s a good surprise.”

“I want to go back.”

The sentence hangs between them and Ginny examines Harry in a way that makes him feel more bare and vulnerable than he has all morning. “I know it’s complicated, and if I could somehow - ”

He knows the next days, weeks, however long of his life are bound to be hellish. His last present day memory is of planning a bloody Gringotts _ heist _. But he’s got to get back, got to do it even if it’s just to see his Ginny - 

And then he finds _ this _Ginny watching him, that blazing look that takes his breath, and knows it’ll all work out one way or another.

Ginny pats his knee. “Don’t be a dumb arse after everything. She needs you too.”

“Before I go can we - uh. It’ll sound a bit silly.”

She smiles at him knowingly. “Believe me I don’t need to be told how much Harry James Potter loves a good cuddle.”

Easily enough, they’re tucked up on the couch with Ginny pressed to his front and his face in her hair, familiar and flowery and perfect.

When he wakes, his arms are empty.


End file.
